


existing never felt so light

by asgardiun



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Soft Eddie Diaz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asgardiun/pseuds/asgardiun
Summary: a series of buddie-centric prompt fills originally posted on tumblr. see individual chapters for summaries and ratings.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	1. twenty-eight hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "sleepy" + fire house + couch
> 
> _“When’s the last time you slept?” Buck asks softly, privately. He drops his cup to the table, water rings staining the wood.  
>  Eddie hums in response, not completely processing the question. A while, would be an appropriate answer, twenty-eight hours, would be the more accurate answer. _

The station is quiet, a rarity they all savour. No rolling trucks, no radio feedback, only the soft lul of conversation and the tapping of feet across concrete. The occasional laugh fills the room, but it’s the peaceful kind of noise. The alarm will ring, it always does, it’s just a matter of time. But for now, Eddie savours the quiet, the calm before the storm. 

He looks to the bunk room, seeing most of the team already dragged their way there, trying to catch any sleep they could before the next call. The beds are tempting, inviting, but he ignores their call. He walks up the stairs instead, expecting the loft to be empty. Instead, the soft hum of the coffee maker fills the room as Buck bounces through the kitchen. 

“Buck,” he says, just an observation, his head too foggy to string more words along.

“Yeah?” Buck turns his head quickly with a smile on his face and iced coffee in his hand. 

If he had even an ounce more of energy, he would’ve said something like,  _ “you have way too much energy for someone who’s on the twentieth hour of a twenty-four hour shift, what are you doing here?”  _

But his sleep deprived head ran the sentence through a translator until his words meant nothing at all. “You’re here. You’re just, you, you’re…” he trails off, words slurring, gesturing with one hand towards Buck, “I can’t— you… what?”

If he could keep his eyes open, he would’ve noticed the scrunched brows and confused smile slipping across Buck’s face. “Was that a question?”

“I dunno.” He puts an incredible amount of focus into shuffling his feet forward without tripping. Buck meets him halfway in one long stride, holding Eddie’s arm to try and keep him upright. 

He drops his head to Buck’s shoulder without thinking, pressing his forehead against the fabric. It smells of cedar and smoke, but it’s unmistakably warm. His hands find their way around Buck’s waist, draping loosely around him. He breathes softly, letting himself relax completely around Buck and his hand let go of Eddie’s arm to drape over his shoulder.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Buck asks softly, privately. He drops his cup to the table, water rings staining the wood. 

Eddie hums in response, not completely processing the question.  _ A while,  _ would be an appropriate answer,  _ twenty-eight hours,  _ would be the more accurate answer. 

“Alright, let's get you to the bunks.” Buck shifts until his arm drops around Eddie’s waist, propping him up. Eddie grumbles in response, holding him even tighter. He should’ve taken himself to the bunks earlier, never attempting to climb the stairs. But now that he knows Buck is  _ here  _ not  _ there _ , the beds sound much less inviting. Sleeping upright, leaning against Buck’s strong arms and warm embrace, quickly became the best option.

“I can’t move,” he offers as an excuse.

“Yes, you can.”

“I don’t  _ wanna _ move,” Eddie says. He could feel Buck’s sharp exhale, a fond almost-laughter escaping his lungs. 

“You’re dead on your feet,” Buck says, his other hand moving to land on Eddie’s stomach, “standing here isn’t gonna help. Think you can make it to the couch?” He poses it as a question, giving Eddie every option. But Buck’s already walking forward, dragging Eddie along with him. He doesn’t move his head to watch where they’re headed, trusting Buck to carry him where he needs to go.

“C’mon,” Buck says, pulling Eddie’s arms off him to drop him on the couch, laying him down. He groans in response, immediately missing Buck’s steady hands. If he was more awake, he wouldn’t dare to be so clingy, not in the middle of the firehouse. But Buck is here and his eyes burn with sleep, so he reaches out, trying to grab any part of him he could. 

Buck gently moves his hands away, smile still fond, to reach for the blanket folded across the back of the couch. He drapes it over Eddie, who immediately pulls the soft fabric close to his chest. He lets one hand fall to Eddie’s cheek, sweeping his thumb across soft skin, before pulling away. 

Eddie tries to grab on to him, missing entirely at first, before his hand lands on Buck’s wrist. He tugs him forward, towards the couch. 

“Don’t go,” he says, “please?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Buck sits at the far end of the couch, and Eddie’s quick to shift forward, pressing his face into his thigh, eyes fluttering shut. Buck drops one hand to Eddie’s waist, letting his fingers card through his hair with the other. It’s instinctive, soothing, to trace along his scalp. 

“You’re a good pillow,” Eddie mumbles, pressing impossibly closer, exhaling softly against his leg. His breath evens as the gentle touch lulls him to sleep. It’s quiet and it’s warm and he can’t remember ever sleeping sounder. 


	2. still the river runs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “the coziness and safety of being home with loved ones while it pours outside” + “petrichor” + home
> 
> _The house is near silent, but to Eddie, it’s never been so full of life. It’s warmth and safety he never imagined he could have. What was once four empty walls and a hollow bedroom is now a home, a safe landing._

Los Angeles rains more than El Paso. Just slightly. But it’s still not enough for Eddie to adjust to the grey clouds drifting in and the pooling water in the driveway, running off towards the streets, splashing as cars roll through. 

He pulls his truck into the driveway, headlights dimming, leaving him in the dark, alone in the late night. The rain echoes inside the metal frame, droplets roll down the windows, tracing lines that disappear as the rain picks up. 

The puddles ripple as he steps out of the car, the smell of pavement filling the air, washing over him entirely. It lingers in the air, leaving behind a sense of peace. He’s content in the moment, watching the rain weave through the asphalt, drifting off into the mud, soaking through the garden’s roots. The trees bend with the wind, leaves whistling, branches creaking, but never snapping. 

Outside is cold, but he doesn’t mind. It’s not often he gets to appreciate the rain without expectations. He’s not at work, fighting the rain through a mudslide, or driving through traffic, the weather mysteriously slowing every car. There’s no weight to it; it’s water, it’s calm, it’s nothing more. But the inside—the warm, dry inside—awaits.

It’s quiet, only the sound of rain against the roof echoing through the living room. The house sleeps soundly but welcomes his presence. Eddie drops his bag near the front door, which he will most certainly trip on the next morning, and waits for any signs of life in the house; a voice down the hall or laughter in the kitchen. 

He’s not alone in the house, that much he knows. Buck’s jeep is still parked across the street and his shoes still sit on the rack by the door below his jacket, hanging on the wall.

The house is near silent, but to Eddie, it’s never been so full of life. It’s warmth and safety he never imagined he could have. What was once four empty walls and a hollow bedroom is now a home, a safe landing. There’s proof of it scattered in every corner, from the photos on the mantle to the closet that has slowly morphed into a shared space. 

There’s ingredients in the kitchen he would never buy, yet they slot perfectly into the pantry. Buck’s mail is left on the dining table and Chris’s report cards hang on the fridge, held up by alphabet magnets he doesn’t remember owning. Two mugs sit in the sink, chocolate staining the base. Eddie’s never been happier to wash a dish in his life. 

There’s blankets slumping off the couch, extra pillows strewn across the carpet, and empty DVD cases abandoned by the TV, evidence of a movie night that stretched too long. A smile ghosts his cheeks at the thought, imagining Chris tucked into Buck’s side, blankets pulled to their chins, drifting slowly off to sleep. And he knows his boyfriend, knows that he would’ve carried Chris to bed and left him with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered  _ goodnight.  _

He slips off his shoes and trails down the hall to Chris’s room. The door is open, but only just. He’s laying in his bed, the covers pulled close to his chest. A library book rests on the nightstand, the bookmark slightly bent but holding its place in the middle of the text. On top of the book sits his glasses.

Eddie smiles and pushes a curl out of Chris’s face. “Goodnight, kid,” he says, before kissing his cheek and pulling the door shut. 

He opens the door to his room,  _ their  _ room, and finds the familiar scent of rain against pavement again. It bleeds in through the window, left ajar, and leaves a chill in the air, harsh against his still-damp clothes, but he finds safety in it nonetheless. 

He looks to the bed and feels an overwhelming sense of warmth. Buck’s hands are wrapped around Eddie’s pillow, knees tucked tight into his chest. His hair is pressed to his forehead, soft and curled. Near the bed lays his shirt, discarded on the floor. The lamp softly glows on the nightstand, entirely forgotten. 

Eddie’s shirt is still wet from the rain, his hair dripping and arms shivering from the wind. But here, in the shared space of his once lonely bedroom, he’s never felt such comfort. 


	3. there's still so much i'd like to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "pink" + fire truck
> 
> _“So, why are we hiding?” He asks, and what a terrible question it is. Three years of friendship all came hurtling towards him at once, leaving him with a resounding Oh. And he can’t just say it, let the words fill the air. It’s not a simple confession, this isn’t how friends act.  
> _

Eddie has a problem. He’s not  _ hiding  _ from his problem, he’s  _ strategically avoiding  _ his problem, there’s a difference.  _ Hiding  _ implies he’ll never face the problem, he’ll lock himself away until it disappears. No, he’s not hiding, he fully intends to face the problem. Eventually. He’ll figure it out.

There’s no  _ good  _ places to strategically avoid his problems. The firehouse is always moving, always flowing. Conversation ripples and disperses throughout the room, it’s unavoidable. If someone asks,  _ “Where’s Eddie?”  _ it’s easy to follow the telephone chain of information, eventually leading to him. 

The fire truck is the only small spot of solace he can find. Until the alarm rings, the back of the truck will stay empty. Headphones and radios hang from the ceiling, unused, and seatbelts hang slack off the side of the seats. The slightest noise, the scuff of his boots or a tired sigh, echoes through the back of the truck, but stays contained to the four metal walls. 

He can breathe. The leather seats stick to his arms and there’s metal pressing against his head, but he can breathe. 

At any moment, the alarm could ring. Fortunately, he’d already be in the truck, awaiting orders. But it leaves him at the edge of his seat, waiting for the slightest disruption to the silence. 

The door swings open and holding the handle stands his problem, all six feet and three inches of it, in the form of Buck.

“You would think hiding in a fire truck at a firehouse would be too obvious,” Buck says, climbing in the back of the truck, “But that’s what makes it the perfect hiding spot. No one suspects it. Also the windows are tinted, which helps.”

Buck takes the seat beside him, just like they do on calls, knees knocking together and arms brushing past one another. His face burns at the touch, leaving him warm, yet shaking.

“So, why are we hiding?” He asks, and what a terrible question it is. Three years of friendship all came hurtling towards him at once, leaving him with a resounding  _ Oh.  _ And he can’t just say it, let the words fill the air. It’s not a simple confession, this isn’t how friends act. 

“We?” Eddie asks, avoiding the question.

“Well, I’m in the truck too. And no one knows we’re here. Therefore  _ we _ are hiding.” Buck gestures between the two of them. He’s staring at Eddie, but Eddie is staring anywhere but, trying to ignore the fact he’s sitting beside the one person he wanted to avoid (not hide,  _ avoid _ ).

“I’m not hiding.”

“Oh, really?” Buck laughs, “Well, you picked a pretty good not-hiding spot then.”

“Not good enough,” he mumbles. 

“You can’t hide from me Eddie, I know you too well.”

He knows Eddie better than anyone, knows exactly how his gears turn and lock. He has the key to his head and his house, in all its shining gold. And when he steps inside the house, there’s pieces of Buck in every corner. The sweatshirt left hanging in Eddie’s closet and the family photo on the wall. There’s books in Chris’s room, handpicked by him, and Buck will gladly read them when asked, funny voices and all. There’s his food in the fridge and shoes by the front door and stains on the coffee table he could never remove. It’s proof that Buck’s here. He’s always here. 

“Yeah, you do,” Eddie says softly, as if it’s a revelation, but truly he’s always known. There’s no secrets with Buck, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“So, you gonna tell me why we’re not-hiding?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he says. It’s a promise, he will. Not hiding,  _ avoiding.  _ He’ll say it when he’s not in the back of a fire truck with his best friend. He’ll say it when he knows the words, the perfect string to describe the way he feels. How his days are better with Buck by his side, leaving lingering touches that sit heavy on his heart, planting roots and promising to never leave. He’s better with Buck, he just can’t say it. Not yet. 

“Okay,” Buck says. It’s trust, knowing that the tension will settle, that this, too, will be solved. Buck knows him, knows that something is hiding, but trusts Eddie to bring it to light in time. He will. There’s no secrets with Buck. He just needs time.


	4. i'd rather live in his world (than live without him in mine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "euphoria" + a train
> 
> _Texas is just a place, California is a home.  
>  Buck offered to join them, he should’ve said yes.   
> The train can’t move fast enough. He needs to go… he needs to go.   
> _

Los Angeles is too far away. They’re moving as fast as they can, but it’s still too slow. They took a train—Chris  _ insisted  _ on it—but it moves too slow. It moves too slow, he needs to get home. 

Texas was...fine. It’s never  _ great _ , but he’s never been more excited to leave. It served him well for a while. Dry heat and open fields, miles of empty highways surrounded by the vast unknown. But Texas is just a place, California is a home. 

Buck offered to join them, he should’ve said yes. 

The train can’t move fast enough. He needs to go… he needs to go. 

Chris sits across from him in the booth, drawing pad in hand, staring out the window. He’s drawing trees as they pass the train car, nose scrunching as he searches for the perfect colored pencil. They roll around the table, sliding between the wall and the pencil pouch left on the table. Their drinks swirl as the car rolls, iced black coffee and apple juice. Two used napkins and a croissant wrapper crinkle at the end of the table. 

The grasses ripple as the train passes by, swaying with the wind, birds swooping and riding with the waves. He leans his head on the window, the glass shaking against his head. The wheels turn and softly thump as they drive, adding to the white noise of soft conversation in the background. 

One family sits together, playing cards across the table. They throw the cards and each other and smile, before reshuffling the deck. Two women lean into each other and laugh, hot coffees in hand, sweetness filling the air. One girl sits alone, book in hand, pages peeling and flipping. She pays no attention to the noise.

It’s a peaceful moment, and Eddie wants to appreciate it; calm, gentle ambiance. But the space beside him is empty. He needs to go home. His fingers tap against his cup, tracing the condensation. He can barely sit still, the anticipation kills. 

They’re almost there, the city in sight, far off. He feels like a kid, constantly repeating,  _ “Are we there yet?”  _ in his head. 

He grabs his phone the second it beeps, knowing exactly who’s on the other side, waiting. 

_ Buck: almost at the station. see you soon !! _

He can’t stop the smile from forming as he stares at his phone. He doesn’t reply. He just waits.

Waits as fields fade into buildings, sun shining off the windows. Waits as people pack their bags and prepare to leave, to catch the next train to the next city, or find their way home. He helps Chris collect his pencils and watches as he shows off some of his drawings. 

They leave the train behind, swapping mumbled conversations and soft movements for shrill speakers and fast rolling suitcases. The station is filled with noise, the breaks of train cars squeaking and people shoving past one another. They turn their heads down, moving one track in their mind. Chris moves quickly in front of him, always in his sight. He’s on the same mission as Eddie, searching for those blue eyes and sandy hair. 

Fortunately, their suspect is tall and wears a smile that’s impossible to miss. 

“Buck!”

Chris bolts towards him, as fast as he can on his crutches, but Buck is quick to meet him halfway, diving down for a full body hug, picking him up and pulling him close. His smile grows impossibly wider as Chris tucks his head into his neck, crutches hanging awkwardly from his arms. 

Eddie lets the moment take root in his mind, surrounded by every other moment made perfect by Buck. The station’s busy and loud but all that exists is this. 

He sets Chris down and helps him gain his footing again, readjusting the crutches on his arms. 

He looks up, and Eddie melts. Two strides and Eddie’s in his arms, collapsing in his embrace. He’s warm and inviting and everything he’s been missing. His hands grip tight to the back of Buck’s shirt, pulling him close. He tucks his head into Buck’s shoulder, feeling Buck’s hand hold the back of his head while the other wraps around his torso. He feels a kiss press against his head, and he leans into the touch. 

They hold on too long, but he’s already lost enough time. He’s not letting go. He’s too good to let go.

“You’re coming with us next time,” Eddie mumbles into Buck’s shirt. Two weeks is too long to be away, it’s the longest they’ve been apart since they met. He never wants to be apart again.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @maysgrant


End file.
